


Supernova

by kototyph



Series: Halloween Trick or Treat Ficlets [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Bars and Pubs, Demon Dean Winchester, Ficlet, Inexperienced Castiel, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m so hungry I could eat a linebacker," Sam mutters as the bartender pours him a glass. He’s eyeing a group of college kids who’ve taken over the battered pool tables in the back as he says it, gaze cool and accessing. "What do you think?"</p><p>Dean toasts him. “Shoot for the stars, Sammy. Try the one in the kilt. He’s had way more than the rest of them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

> _Anonymous said:_ Prompt #19 - Both are monsters.

They're pretty careful, picking out the place. It's shabby enough to attract the kind of people who get a thrill going slumming, but not enough to actually scare off the adventurous types once they get a good look at it. He and Sam have been here a couple times before— just never with a hunt in mind. It's close to some big hotel chains and a touristy part of town, but just over that invisible line that separates darkside Chicago from its mortal twin. It's Halloween and the place is packed, the patrons a nice, even mix of vanilla humanity and the things that hover at the edge of it. Things like them.

Human souls are like hearthfires out here, and Dean's looking to get warm and cozy tonight.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a linebacker," Sam mutters as the bartender pours him a glass. He's eyeing a group of college kids who've taken over the battered pool tables in the back as he says it, gaze cool and accessing. "What do you think?"

Dean toasts him. "Shoot for the stars, Sammy. Try the one in the kilt. He's had way more than the rest of them."

Sam rolls his eyes as he knocks back his drink in one go. "Gee, thanks for the pointer. I'd have never spotted the guy who can barely stand."

"I'm trying to be helpful here," Dean says, hand on his heart, but Sam's already sauntering off towards the boisterous group, leaving his empty glass behind. Several sets of eyes turn to watch him as he goes, and it's not because (not _just_ because) he's built like a brick shithouse.

There are a lot of options on the hoof tonight. People that usually avoid the darkside parts of town tend to get braver on Halloween, or maybe just dumber. Drunker, definitely. Sitting where he is, Dean has a pretty good view of the whole room, both the section pretending to be a restaurant and the more honest area around the bar where people in and out of costumes are drinking themselves under the table.

Something catches his eye, a gesture or a glint of light; maybe just his own finely-honed instinct seeing something it likes. He honestly doesn't know. Of the milling crowd between him and the back wall, of all the possible permutations of the lonely and the desperate, his gaze is drawn to a small booth in the corner. There's a man sitting there, sipping something pink and probably nonalcoholic through a straw. He's alone, dressed in a crummy suit and shapeless, ugly coat. He's watching the rest of the bar like it's a particularly interesting fishtank— nice to look at, but not something he's actually planning on dipping his toes in.

Dean hops off his stool before he's really thought about it, bringing his neat whiskey with him.

The guy sees him coming, but doesn't seem to catch on that Dean's coming to _him_ until Dean's right there at the table, hip braced on the seat opposite him. "Mind if I join you?" Dean asks with a slow smile.

The man blinks up at him, clearly surprised. "Oh. Uh, no, please go ahead."

"Thanks," Dean says, settling in. Up close, that coat is even more offensively boring, and the guy's tie is on backwards. Middle management in some big, soulless company, maybe. "I'm Dean, by the way."

The man just stares at him, confusion writ large on his expressive face.

"This is the part where you tell me your name, too," Dean prompts, lifting his glass.

"Castiel," the man says awkwardly. "Excuse me, but— have we met?"

"No," Dean says patiently. "This is what happens in bars when people see someone they'd like to get to know. They go up and talk to them." He takes a sip of whiskey, lets it roll over his tongue. "Been in the city long?"

Castiel's eyes drop to his pink cocktail, and he fiddles with the straw. "Oh, no. I'm only here for a… conference, of sorts."

"Like it here?"

Castiel nods enthusiastically, though he keeps his eyes down. "I always enjoy my time on, uh, _in_ this part of the world."

"So you travel a lot," Dean says, and Castiel's face sets in something like a sulk.

"Not as often as I want to," he says, using his straw to vigorously stir the ice in his glass. "I like new things."

"Oh?" Let's see how he likes this, then. Castiel has the kind of unconscious innocence Dean just _loves_ getting dirty fingerprints all over.

They continue chatting, superficial topics at best, but Dean is seeding his words with gentle hints and suggestions, getting their bodies closer while he coaxes Castiel into telling him about his work (he's with some kind of big humanitarian aid agency, apparently) and his home (both boring and 'bright'). Dean is willing to admit to himself this guy is kind of weird, but bumping his knee under the table is like sticking his tongue in a light socket. Dean takes another sip of whiskey to chase the taste of ozone and licks his lips, smiling a little wider.

There's an odd moment when Castiel almost seems to realize what's happening, and something flares against the silk-spun web Dean's weaving. It's not human, but it feels— fuck. It's not human but it's delicious, and he wants it. He wants it _now._

Across from him, Castiel's eyes briefly glaze over and he shivers, shaking his head as if to clear it. The whatever-it-is dies back, and Dean runs his tongue over his teeth. Oh, soon, baby. Soon.

It's about half an hour later, Castiel talking more and more animatedly, stuttering when Dean casually hooks their ankles together and then leaning closer with red cheeks and a determined set to his jaw, when Sam finds his way to their table. He's got a broad grin on his face and a tipsy girl draped over each arm, one dressed as a slutty angel and the other as sluttier devil. They're fresh-faced coeds, must be barely in their twenties; trust Sam to turn up gems like that in a dump like this. Then again, Dean's not doing too bad himself.

"Hey, Dean," his brother says with a smug salute, easily steadying the devil-girl when she stumbles over her five-inch platform heels. "This is Jess, and this is Ruby. We were going to hang out somewhere quieter, if you want to come?"

He thinks Dean's struck out, that much is obvious. And he's offering to share. What a guy. "Thanks, man, I'm fine," Dean says, giving the angel-girl a wink. "You kids enjoy yourselves."

Sam gives Castiel another onceover, clearly not seeing the attraction, but shrugs and says, "See you later, then."

"See ya, Sammy."

Sam flips him off on their way to the door, and Castiel stares after him with a puzzled frown.

"He's your friend?"

"My best friend," Dean says, leaning across the table. "Hey. You look tired too, you know. It's almost midnight, you want to head home?"

"Head ho—? Oh," Castiel says. For a second he looks deeply disappointed. Dean must have been very, very good in a past life.

"I thought I'd tag along," he says lightly, and watches Castiel brighten up again.

"Also something people do in bars?" the man asks archly, as if it's an inside joke between them. God, he's cute.

"You got it," he says.

"I'd like that," Castiel says earnestly. "I think. I mean—"

Dean has to smile. "I think we both will," he agrees, taking his hand. It's warm and slightly sweaty in his, and Castiel swallows hard at the contact. "Let's grab a taxi?"

Dean's feeling daring and his appetite is definitely whetted, so they've barely pulled away from the curb before he's making an assault on that rumpled suit, Castiel's eyes wide and fixed on Dean's face as Dean presses a finger to his lips with one hand and unbuttons his pants with the other. Those flares he gives off when Dean touches him, they're like nothing Dean's ever tasted— blistering and almost electric, like lapping up sunlight. Castiel isn't any flavor of human, but he's _something_ Dean's in no hurry to let go.

It's Dean's fault, but they're kind of a mess when the taxi pulls up outside a surprisingly swanky hotel, driver clearing his throat pointedly. Dean tucks Castiel back into his pants still hard, licking precome off his fingers where Castiel can see, and the resulting surge as the man holds in a shaky moan is almost hot enough to scald.

"Let's go upstairs?" Dean suggests, when it looks like Castiel is just going to sit there breathing hard and staring at his mouth.

"Y-yes, right, I'll—" Castiel turns and stumbles out of the open taxi door, leaving Dean to pay and follow him outside.

Dean behaves himself in the lobby and all the way up to the twentieth floor, even though Castiel is leaning on his shoulder and all but begging him not to. "You want to put on a show?" Dean says, flicking his eyes to the camera above them.

Castiel bites his lip, still holding his coat closed with both hands. "I suppose not," he says thickly, but stays where he is, body a warm line against Dean's side as the elevator rises up, up, up.

It takes Castiel three tries to get his card in the suite's door, mumbling something about new technologies with Dean standing just a little too close behind him. "I'm afraid I— I don't have any more alcohol, we could have water?" he's saying as he steps into the room. Dean steps in after him, shuts the door, and pulls Castiel back into arms before he wanders too far. "Dean? What—?"

"Shhhh," Dean says, cupping a hand over Castiel's erection and enjoying the shocked sound he makes. "Going to take such good care of you." Best to get one orgasm out of the way, take the edge off for both of them, and then have all night to play. He's _really_ looking forward to it.

"Shouldn't we, ah," Castiel gasps, head falling back against Dean's shoulder as his hips buck up. Dean tugs his coat down with his free hand, then his jacket and shirt, burrowing in until the tender join of Castiel's shoulder and neck are under his teeth. " _Dean_."

"Taste so good," Dean says dazedly, feeling it pool in his mouth like molten gold. He swallows it down into that yawning hunger that lives at his core, pulls in more in greedy handfuls, and Castiel cries out.

"What are you _doing,_ oh, Dean, I can't—"

"Don't have to," Dean whispers in his ear, "just give it up, come on, let me make you come." He can already feel it building in the air, even though Castiel's pants are still closed and Dean's hardly doing anything but holding still so he can grind into his palm. Got to fix that.

"Can't," Castiel pants, even though he makes the most beautiful wounded noise when Dean fumbles his pants open, spits in his hand and wraps it around his bare cock. "Dean, you don't understand."

Dean drops his arm around Castiel's waist and pulls him back, rubbing himself shamelessly against the curve of his ass. "You're doing great," he slurs, "so great," scraping teeth under his jaw and groaning as the next flare pours through him, fiery and sweet.

Castiel's fingers are digging into Dean's arms, but he doesn't seem to know if he wants to push him away or yank him closer. "I want to, but Dean, I _can't_ , I'll," he sucks in a shuddering breath, "Dean, I'll—"

Dean's knees buckle unexpectedly, and he slides down the door, bringing Castiel with him. "You're fine, I promise," and it's so damn strong now, like drinking honeyed lightning; it crackles and churns inside him like something alive. He tightens his grip, other hand trailing down Castiel's trembling stomach, slipping into his underwear to cup his balls and knead them. Castiel yelps and fucks up into Dean's fingers, back arching in a wanton curve. "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me, Cas," he breathes worshipfully.

Is it his imagination, or is it getting brighter in here?

Castiel's heels scrape helplessly across the carpet, his whole body starting to curl in on itself. He's leaking so much Dean's fist moves easy now, thumb sliding through the mess at the head to tease at his slit, roll over the tight knot of nerves just below. "Dean!"

It's definitely getting brighter. Dean lifts his head, looking for the source, and sees Castiel's gorgeous, gasping mouth, where something's shining out like a small star. His eyes are white-pupiled and wide in panic.

"… Cas?" Dean says.

Castiel comes.

Dean's a predator, if a fairly tame one, descended from a long line of things that lie in wait for the unwary or foolhardy to stumble across them in the dark. He's been living off of dabs and dribbles his entire life, never willing to take that big bite when it might mean killing. That doesn't mean the urge doesn't seethe under his skin, that he doesn't have that bone-deep hunger gnawing on his insides telling him _just a little more, just a little more, more more more._

Castiel's orgasm hits them like a meteor, and Dean takes it. He takes it all, wrings it out of Castiel in dirty jerks of his wrist, and lets it empty into him until he's filled.

Castiel goes slowly limp as he comes down from whatever stratosphere he nearly blasted Dean into, breathing in high, stunned little sobs. Dean's been punched in the metaphorical solar plexus and he's just as desperate for air, panting like a dog against the back of Castiel's neck. His boxers are sticky and he can't quit dragging his open mouth over the warm give of Castiel's nape and shoulder, mounding the skin there between his teeth. His hindbrain's half-convinced he could just bite down and all that sweet fire would spill into him again, Castiel something bursting-ripe and ready. For once, though, Dean has no real desire find out, and it's so nice to feel _full_ — like he's a real boy and everything.

Dean slips his hands from inside Castiel's pants, and Castiel makes a soft noise of protest, fingers flexing on his biceps. Dean starts to laugh, breathlessly.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," he says, wrapping him up in both arms and just holding on. "You do that every time?"

"Nnn," Castiel moans, eyes blue again and sleepy. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he's still quaking with the aftershocks. "Dean?"

"I'm here. Not going anywhere," Dean says, grinning. "I'm gonna get fat, and it'll be so, so worth it."

**Author's Note:**

> I need more fandom friends! Find me on [tumblr](http://kototyph.tumblr.com/) and [livejournal](http://kototyph.livejournal.com/).


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